


Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

by weepingnaiad



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Background characters - Freeform, Caretaking, Clint's insecurities could fill a swimming pool, Flirting, Iron Man 2 Compliant, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Protective Phil Coulson, Slightly jealous Phil Coulson, Sunburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingnaiad/pseuds/weepingnaiad
Summary: Natasha's been assigned to Tony Stark.  The rest of Strike Team Delta has her back, except Clint's still on medical standby.  What's a guy to do when he's stuck in Monaco and can only listen in on the comms?  Is he really supposed to just laze by the pool with all these ridiculous rich people?
Relationships: Clint Barton/Original Male Character(s), Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 79
Collections: Clint Barton Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ryo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryo/gifts), [FadedSepia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FadedSepia/gifts).



> So, this story decided to go its own way. I couldn't simply have Phil take care of a sunburnt Clint without explaining how he got the sunburn could I? (Sure, but I didn't.) And this is what happened.

Monaco. The Historic Grand Prix. Clint didn't even like racing. But he'd be damned if he was going to let Nat and Coulson babysit Stark while he sat this one out. Still it was galling that he was only allowed to listen in on the comms and not _do_ anything. Instead he found himself lounging by the Fairmont's pool, living the life of Riley drinking expensive cocktails and people watching while the rest of his team was drowning in Stark madness.

Clint already hated all the rich and powerful people around him. He was bored, _so_ bored, and in pain, if he was honest, which he hadn't been to Coulson because he knew he'd never have been allowed to tag along. So he was stuck watching these assholes posture and preen while lazing idly on a pretty comfortable lounger. The service by the pool was exceptional, efficient and unobtrusive, just as you'd expect at one of the most expensive hotels in Monte Carlo, despite what dicks the patrons were being. Every last one. Well, except for the gorgeous guy in the tight swim trunks. He was at least polite to the staff. And, after some surreptitious research, Clint learned, rich as sin.

Clint sighed and stretched, sore muscles twinging as he flexed. He cracked his neck, using stiffness as an excuse to get a full three hundred and sixty degree view of the area, his mirrored aviators hiding his eyes as they darted around the pool while he feigned a bored yawn. Old habits died hard and he was not about to assume he was safe or that nothing nefarious was going on. There were always crooks, especially among the well heeled. He watched the patrons crowding the pool and bar area, most of them strutting their stuff in the sunshine, parading their designer wear and jewelry, making a show of ordering the most expensive booze on the menu. Rolling his eyes, he tapped his right hearing aid, vocalizing his thoughts on the open comm as he lifted the ridiculously overpriced beer to his lips. "Explain it to me again, boss. How am I Nat's backup out here?"

"You are benched, Barton, not backup."

Coulson's tone was bone dry, almost no inflection in his voice, if you didn't know him like Clint did. "Are you worried about me, sir?"

"I am rightfully worried for the denizens near your current location."

"Denizens?" Clint snorted. Coulson loved to sound so formal and polished on the open comms, but Clint had heard the Army Ranger come out more than once and that Coulson could strip paint with his swearing.

"I promise I won't get into any trouble," Clint added for good measure even though the inflection made it clear that he had no intention of trying to behave.

It was Coulson's turn to snort.

"If you two are quite _done,_ " Natasha interrupted, the comms conveying her annoyance quite clearly. "I think we have a developing situation."

Clint sat up, gifting the Greek shipping magnate's son with a winning smile as he readied himself to head down to Natasha. It didn't matter that his ribs weren't healed or that the muscle in his back was still weak, he was going to have his partner's back.

"Hold, Barton," Coulson ordered.

"But--"

"I said stand down," Coulson repeated. And this time he was serious, so Clint relented, his attention drifting over the bronzed abs of Alexandros Metaxas who smiled back at him as their eyes met across the pool. He _was_ gorgeous, sculpted perfection, long limbs, tanned skin on full display, hair dark and slightly wavy with a light dusting over his pectorals with a thin trail running into his swim trunks. 

Stretched out on a lounger in the water, he made a delicious image, almost mouth watering. Except when he met Clint's gaze, his green eyes were like cut emeralds and just as cold. He knew what he looked like, knew his money could get him anything he desired. His interest was flattering and Clint could enjoy the display, but that's all it was: a display, might as well be a photo spread in a magazine for the shallowness of it all. And Clint had learned a long time ago that flash without substance left him hollow and wanting.

Clint wanted one guy and he was busy at the moment.

He realized he'd let himself get distracted and missed what was going down when he heard Natasha swear under her breath. "Are those lightning whips?"

"I am on my way, Agent Romanoff, please do not engage."

"I'm--" Clint interjected, readying himself once again.

"No!" two voices shouted at him, making him flinch from the combined volume blasting in one ear.

"What am I supposed to do then? Just lay here? How does that help?" Clint didn't mean to sound so petulant, but something was going down and he needed to be there for his team.

"It helps because you do not further injure yourself, Barton," Coulson said, voice tight.

Clint slumped. "Fine." If he switched to gin and made it a double, no one had to know that he was pouting. "But next time I get to seduce the rich guy."

"You can have him." Natasha sounded distinctly put out with Tony Stark at the moment and Clint would have laughed except he was actually worried.

Alexandros beckoned Clint over. And since he was supposed to be laying low, he went. The water was cool against his overheated skin as he eased into the next lounger, careful of his barely healed back. He was greeted by brilliant green eyes tracking his every move, sliding lazily over Clint as a waiter handed Clint a perfect G&T.

"See something you like?"

"Very much so," Alexandros replied. 

Clint cocked his head and gave Alexandros a coy grin before taking a sip. "I'm Clint, by the way."

"I am Alexandros, but please call me Alex," he said, gaze growing heated.

"Alex, it is a pleasure to meet you," Clint said, tipping his glass up. "And thanks for the drink."

"What brings you to Monaco?" Alex asked. "Surely not the race?"

"If I was interested in the race, I'd be down there watching, or glued to a television," Clint answered. "Taking some personal time," he added. "What about you?"

"I am supposed to be on the clock, but all work and no play makes Alex a very dull boy indeed."

Clint chuckled. "A man after my own heart."

"You intrigue me," Alex continued, "you do not exactly belong here do you?"

Clint stiffened.

"I only mean, you clearly have more substance than everyone else here," he added quickly, a flick of his wrist encompassing the pool. "You have lived a life," he purred, leaning close as if to tell a secret, "and I want to know the story I catch mere glimpses of written on your skin."

Clint swallowed. He had to hand it to the guy, he was charming. Exactly the kind of guy Clint's persona would go for, and if Clint was honest, the kind of guy he'd have been on his knees for easily a few years ago. So he leaned into it, worked the encounter to distract himself and maybe have a little fun. What was a little harmless flirting while leisurely basking in the Mediterranean sun among the rich and powerful?

"Is that Tony Stark?" Alex asked, eyes fixed on the big screen television behind the swim-up bar. Way to ruin the mood.

Clint turned, eyes widening in horror as Tony fought some dude with electrical whips that could slice cars apart. "Um, wow," he muttered, body tensing as he struggled to figure out how to escape and get down to Coulson without giving himself away.

"You're American, what do you think of Stark?" Alex asked.

"I try not to," Clint answered, which was the full truth. Stark had been nothing but a pain in Coulson's side from day one and now Natasha had been roped into escorting the guy who was a trouble magnet and grade-A pain in the ass.

Alex chuckled. "Shall we?" he asked.

Confused, Clint looked at him. "Huh?"

"As much as I'd love to take you back to my room and investigate every last inch of you," Alex began, eyes brazenly raking Clint's body, "we're both of us a bit distracted by our jobs, are we not?"

Clint just blinked at the guy, still not sure what he was talking about.

Alex gave Clint a conspiratorial smile then leaned in close. "When my boss heard Stark was coming, I was sent to keep an eye on things. Looks like she was right."

Clint was professional enough to not groan aloud. "MI-6?" he asked, only slightly disappointed.

"Interpol."

"Well, shit." He shook his head. "You do not fit my idea of a European cop."

Alex cocked his head at Clint. "And what idea was that?"

Clint shrugged. "Not sure. More stuffy," he said, adding, "less sexy."

"And I never would have pegged you as CIA," Alex said, eyes crinkling, pleased at the compliment. "But you're not, are you?"

Clint grinned. "I could tell you, but--"

"You'd have to kill me." Alex groaned. "Terrible," he said, voice fond. "Gorgeous, though." Sighing, he said, "we should go. God knows what else Stark's going to destroy."

"We should," Clint agreed.

Before they broke off to go their separate ways, Alex pulled Clint close, leaned in, slow and cautious, eyes open, waiting for Clint to nod, then he moved the rest of the way, lips brushing Clint's. When he gasped, Alex dove in and took, body pressing Clint hard to the wall, lips and tongue claiming Clint, both commanding and teasing; kissing him to within an inch of his life. Blinking back to awareness, Clint shook his head, swaying a bit before he finally snapped out of it in time to see Alex stride away.

Clint's head thunked against the wall and he sighed. Gorgeous, rich, fabulous kisser, but Alex was not what, not _who_ he wanted. Smiling, he straightened, his hand brushing the card that had been tucked into the waistband of his board shorts. _Alex's number._

With a smile on his face and a spring in his step, he went to see how he could help his team.

~~*~~

By the time he'd pushed through the police and security staff, Stark, along with Natasha and the rest of his entourage, was long gone, leaving Coulson to sort through the mess and pick up the pieces.

Whistling, Clint strode up to Coulson who was speaking to somebody who clearly thought they were more important than they were. Coulson caught Clint's eyes and, with a look, halted his advance.

Eyes darting around, Clint sighed and moved out of the way to lean on a marble column to watch the chaos, its sunwarmed heat soaking through his linen shirt. He grew bored and began looking for Alex since it appeared Coulson was going to be busy for a long while. Instead of staying put, he wandered, eyes widening when he saw the damage whip-guy had done to Stark's car. Whatever those things were made out of, they were not to be ignored or discounted. Immediately Clint began to consider ways to counter such a weapon.

Half an hour later, the race track had been cleared of debris, and the race resumed, so Clint found a good spot and decided to watch. He was still surrounded by far too much posturing, but at least these people seemed focused on the track and not so much on showing off.

"Shift over," Coulson said and Clint moved without thought to let him sit.

Clint looked at him and grinned. "You look like hell, sir."

"Feel like it," Coulson sighed. "Fuck, how does Stark manage it? Every single fuckin' time?"

Clint elbowed him. "It's his super power."

Coulson didn't laugh, barely chuckled under his breath, but his shoulders were dropping, the tension on his neck leaving. "You look a little red. Too much time in the pool?"

"Maybe?" The mere suggestion made Clint's neck prickle. He pressed a hand to it. "I'm fine."

"Sure you are," Coulson said. "Did you re-apply?"

Clint hadn't, but, in his defense, he was distracted. And he needed to do the same to Coulson. "Oh, hey, boss!"

"Hmmmm?" His eyes were glued to the track just like every other person in the stands, blending in.

Clint pulled the card out of his pocket. "Met a guy."

Phil's head jerked around, eyes narrowed. "Who?"

"Shipping magnate's son, or maybe not?"

"What?"

"Here's his card," Clint handed it over. "Pegged me as being from an alphabet," he said.

"Interpol?" Coulson was studying the card intently, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah, I guess," Clint said. "Helluva kisser."

Coulson's head jerked up, jaw tense, but he didn't shift his eyes from the track. "Oh?"

"We flirted, talked." He shrugged. "Like attracts like, you know?" And Clint almost felt like he should apologize. "I'm not on the clock."

Coulson's voice was strained. "Of course not," he said. "Here." He handed the card back. "Should I move out of our room?"

"What?"

Coulson finally met Clint's eyes. "I wouldn't want to keep you from--"

"Nothing to keep me from. He's working, same as me."

"You're benched, not working."

"Okay, fine, but he didn't know that!" Clint felt his temper slip and he rubbed his eyes, making them sting like the back of his neck.

Coulson stiffened. "Sorry for assuming. You handed me the card for a reason, so I thought--"

"You thought what?! That I sleep with anyone that asks?" Clint was breathing heavily, guts aching with just how much Coulson's words hurt; he couldn't look at the one man he'd thought was different. "I thought you knew me better than that!"

"Clint, I--"

"Forget it, Coulson!" he barked out. Without turning to look at Coulson, Clint fled through the crowd.


	2. Chapter 2

Monaco was a stupid place to try to find solitude. Monaco during Grand Prix? Fucking impossible to find a place where Clint could go to lick his wounds. In the end, Clint cajoled his way into the staff areas, hiding from workers and guests alike until he found a place on the roof where he could sprawl behind the giant air conditioning unit and stare up at the sky. If he turned his head, he could look out at the sparkling water of the Mediterranean with all the yachts and sailboats competing for which one was the most ostentatious. 

Once the sun began to slide down the horizon, Clint sat up and realized that he was stiff and had a headache. His stomach rumbled and he swore. He had to head back to the room if he wanted food. It'd been too long since he'd eaten, but he still dragged his feet, taking twisting turns and backtracking as he fought with himself about confronting Coulson again. He was surely going to be disappointed in Clint. And that was the last thing he needed or wanted. He'd overreacted, stormed off like a hormonal teen, which only added more fuel to Coulson's doubts about him.

But his stomach grew insistent and he knew he needed water at the very least. He set his feet on the path back to the main guest elevators and headed back to their shared room.

Taking a deep breath he slid the key card in the lock and opened the door without knocking. Coulson had to know he was coming. He always did.

Coulson stood when Clint stepped into the room. He'd changed into sweats and a faded Army Rangers tee. His feet were bare and his hair was mussed with a frown on his face.

"Clint, look I'm--"

Clint held up a hand. "I don't feel like talking, sir." He swayed. "Okay, I should probably sit down."

"Clint?" Coulson sounded worried. 

Clint blinked, and - almost immediately - Coulson was standing beside him, holding a hand out to steady him.

"What are you--?"

"You're dehydrated and sunburned," Coulson said, voice strained. "Let me take care of you."

"I don't--" Clint gazed at Phil whose face was pinched. "I'm fine," he shook his head and the room spun.

"You're not fine."

"I'm sorry, sir, didn't mean to inconvenience--"

"Don't you dare finish that," Coulson scolded.

"Yes, sir."

"Phil."

"Huh?"

"I'd like it if you called me Phil."

"Oh." Clint swallowed. "I'd-I'd like that," he paused, but caught his nerve and barreled on, "Phil?" Clint barely breathed as he looked at Phil. He hadn't even been willing to use his first name in his head. And suddenly Clint realized how close together they were standing, Clint's heart thumping erratically in his chest. That could be dehydration, but it felt like something more significant.

Coulson -- _Phil_ \-- chuckled. "Let's cool you off and get some water in you first, then I'll order room service." He steadied Clint then handed him one of the not-free bottles of water from the mini-bar.

"But you said not to touch the mini-bar," Clint protested for some stupid reason.

"If Fury has a problem with it, I'll pay for it out of my pocket," Phil said. "Now drink."

Clint moaned around the first swallow, wanting the rest that instant.

"Slowly," Phil chided.

Clint complied, just as he did with most of Phil's commands. When the bottle was empty, he tossed it into the trash can across the room, then tipped onto the bed, sprawling on his back, limbs floppy and loose. "I think I could sleep."

"No, you're taking a cool bath, then I'm applying aloe while we wait on the food."

"Too tired, sir." Clint felt himself beginning to drift off despite the heat on his skin and the rumbling from his stomach.

Phil grabbed one hand and tugged. "I said no. You cannot sleep until we get you taken care of." Clint was dead weight, unwilling to help Phil pull him upright, but Phil was stronger than he looked. Everyone always underestimated him. Clint had seen that and could never understand it. Phil was a badass, strong, resilient, gorgeous as hell, but because he didn't strut about like a peacock or posture and rage like a bull in rut, people overlooked him, thought he was little more than a paperpusher. _Idiots._ Clint blinked as he found himself swaying on his legs, arms hooked over Phil's shoulders.

"See, Sir?"

"See what, Clint?" Phil asked as he nudged them toward the bathroom.

"You're a badass and people don't see it," Clint tried to explain.

Phil's eyes lit up and he gave Clint the tiniest of smiles. "Just like I intend." He leaned Clint against the bathroom counter. "Now, let's get you taken care of."

"You can take care of me anytime, Sir," Clint teased, but there was less bravado in his voice then he'd have liked. His stomach dropped and he hid his face in his hands. This was all too much and he had to deflect. "Will you respect me in the morning?"

Phil moved close, gently tugged Clint's hands from his face. "We're not doing _this_ right now. We can discuss that after you're not delirious."

"I'm not!" Clint jerked away, flailing as he struggled to stay upright.

"Clint," Phil used his name to convey so much meaning and Clint sagged, giving in.

"Sorry, Sir."

"I think you should call me Phil," Phil said, tone dry, as he tugged Clint's tee over his head. When Clint could see him again, he had a mischievous smirk on his face and said, "Unless you'd like to be on your knees for me?"

The mere insinuation sent Clint's pulse racing and his eyes widened, blush rapidly descending. "Um."

Phil chuckled. It was a wicked, teasing sound, low and subtle, but the intent clear. And Clint's dick responded instantly.

"That we'll discuss at an even later date," Phil said. He turned back to the tub and tested the water, nodding to himself as he straightened. "You got it from here? Or shall I help you undress?"

Clint could only nod helplessly, but Phil cocked his head and arched an eyebrow. "Oh, um, I got this part, no laces on these ridiculous loafers."

"Very well," Phil said, then he leaned in close and Clint's eyes crossed as he neared. But Phil didn't rush it, just moved closer and closer, making Clint's heart rate skyrocket until he broke the tension by dropping a gentle kiss to Clint's lips, making him sigh and close his eyes as soft breath brushed against his cheek when Phil pulled away. "No sleeping. I don't want you to drown while I'm ordering dinner."

Clint hummed, but didn't open his eyes until the door closed with a soft click. Clint stripped then slipped into the tub, the water temperature soothing that constant prickle on his skin. He wriggled and slid down, sighing as he closed his eyes with a smile on his face. He let himself float on the water and let his mind drift. Phil asked to be called _Phil_ instead of Coulson. That difference was significant. Clint's heart skipped a beat from anticipation. Maybe storming off had been the right thing to do. If things went the way he hoped, he'd owe Alex a good bottle of scotch.

Phil tapped his hand, startling Clint to awareness. "C'mon, Clint, let's get you up and dried off. Food'll be here any minute," he explained. "I'd like to get aloe on the worst of those burns."

Clint blinked up at Phil standing next to the tub, holding a large towel his arms stretched wide.

"You gonna dry me off, sir?" Clint's voice was rusty, but with a low thrum of desire coursing through the words.

"It'd be my pleasure, but not if you keep calling me 'sir'." Phil held out a hand to steady Clint as he arose. Clint caught the way his eyes drifted south before darting up to Clint's face, his cheeks going pink.

"Not into kink, babe?" Clint asked, teasing and pushing the issue from earlier. He smirked as he stepped out of the tub and got a warm towel and strong arms wrapped around him, which he gratefully sagged into.

Phil snorted. "Maybe, maybe not, but, _as I said earlier,_ that is a discussion for later." Clint's dick plumped up at his tone, all firm confidence, strength of will, and a clear statement that they would be discussing kinks. Clint couldn't wait.

Even worse for Clint was Phil dropping to his knees to dry off Clint's legs and feet. Clint groaned.

Phil glanced up, that pink flush spreading. 

"You look good down there."

Phil inhaled sharply through his nose, then swallowed. "As much as I'd like to lick you all over, I do think we need to talk with real words and not merely innuendo, so whatever desires I am contemplating right now will have to wait."

"Love it when you're so buttoned up," Clint gushed, hand cupping Phil's cheek. "Always made me want to tear you apart and absolutely ruin you."

"Fuck," Phil breathed out, warm gust of air across Clint's skin making him shiver. Abruptly, he stood. "You are a menace."

"I always have been."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Phil murmured against Clint's neck before he bit down lightly and then sucked hard, drawing blood to the surface and making Clint's knees weak.

When he pulled away, Clint was floating again; all his blood had rapidly fled south to his dick. "Hnngh."

"And this is why you're going to let me take care of you." Clint tried to interrupt, to protest that he was fine and had done more in much worse shape, but Phil pressed a single finger to his lips. "I promise we will do more than talk, but, please let me do this."

From the very first Clint did what Phil asked him to. There was absolutely no way he could meet Phil's worried blue eyes and blow him off about this. Even if Clint didn't give a shit about a sunburn, _Phil_ wanted to take care of him and, if Clint was honest, he loved Phil's hands on him, loved the very deliberate way Phil took care of him, loved the way Phil made him feel. Clint was a sniper. He knew what patience was. Good things came to those who wait, right?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fill for the Clint Barton Bingo Birthday Bash _Sunburn_ square (3).
> 
> Chapter 1 is dedicated to my dear Ryo. Hopefully she recognizes Alex.
> 
> Chapter 2 is dedicated to my dear Sep, who I made beta this for me. I am terrible. This is for you, hon!


End file.
